


Manson's Torturing Eight's eyes Until the Latter Cums

by hexedHellSeer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cruelty, Existential Angst, Eye Licking, Eye Retractors, Eye Torture, Eye Trauma, Human Experimentation, Human Test Subject, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Non-consensual/Forced Masturbation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Some Plot, Some angst, World Renowned Scientist Rambles Angrily, test subjects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26327494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexedHellSeer/pseuds/hexedHellSeer
Summary: Curing cancer at eighteen means that you're pretty much set for life. So by forty two, how else should you fight back the boredom of being the world's best aside from torturing one of your failed catboy experiments?
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 15





	Manson's Torturing Eight's eyes Until the Latter Cums

**Author's Note:**

> Some little things to note...
> 
> Manson is a shared OC between my partner and I.  
> In canon, he is 42 and lives in a converted laboratory.  
> He is a world renowned biologist known for curing cancer at age eighteen and has several human test subjects.  
> Those mentioned are Eight/Levi (20y/o, a failed catboy prototype), Elliot (14y/o, successful catboy) + Paolo (47, eternal life experiment).

Manson was irritated. Or, rather, he had been sitting in his living room for roughly an hour, trying to come up with more and more topics to get himself upset over. It wasn’t difficult. Almost  _ everything  _ made him angry, so he found himself frequently taking trips to fill his pint glass with more and more ice water from the fridge each time his throat became dry.

This evening in particular, his favoured subject - Elliot - was unwell, and had been sent to rest in his chamber. Locked in, in fact. Manson wasn’t fond of the idea of Elliot spreading whatever bug he had to his other subjects or, even worse, him. As such, he pulled some other unfortunate subject from their chamber in the early evening and dragged them into the living room with him. His first thought had been Paolo: he was old enough to actually understand basic human conversation, and didn’t  _ completely _ hate him. But… He’d tend to try and blabber on about some philosophical shit that Manson had  _ no  _ interest in what-so-ever.

In the end, Manson settled for Eight. Or… Levi. He didn’t care much for the boy’s  _ old  _ name. He was quick to drop old names, especially when he was the one assigning a new one. Unfortunately, Manson had been experiencing a drought for interesting names at the time he’d been working on his modifications, and thus settled for ‘Eight’ as his name… Simply because he was his eighth human subject. Though… Even  _ that  _ name mattered very little to Manson. He usually just called him “kitten” anyway, so an actual name was near pointless.

Manson fastened the boy’s collar around his neck and hooked the lead onto it as he slept, waking him from one of his early evening lazes. He was cruel like that. He loved being cruel. Nothing made him happier than bringing discomfort and pain to those below him. He’d like to say that it was just in his nature, but he knew that it wasn’t inherently  _ his  _ fault and his fault alone. 

...Whatever. He didn’t fucking care what the reason was. He just loved doing it.

Eight wasn’t  _ overly  _ annoyed by being stirred. He never really was. Always just happy to see his master and be of use to him. Similarly, he never really cared about what exactly his master wanted to use him for. Being around his master was enough to fill the young man with an intense, thrilling euphoria that lasted for days on end. His master dragged him to the living room, and commanded him to sit. Maybe like a dog, but Eight followed the order regardless. He curled up at his master’s feet before long, half-listening to his rambling about words he’d long forgotten and concepts that were long since shaken from his mind. It was the calmest he’d felt in a long time.

Manson soon noticed that Eight was just about asleep, lying atop his feet and stopping him from standing to retrieve another glass of water. He reached across to the end table at the side of his chair, and picked up the laser pointer he usually played with when Elliot was in the living room with him. He switched it on, and nudged Eight roughly in the stomach to stir him from his sleepy state.

At the sight of the red laser trailing along the floor, Eight sprung to life, excitedly pouncing on it like a true cat and growling as he kicked at the empty air, thinking he’d caught it in his hands. He hounded the red spot relentlessly, narrowly missing the furniture while tearing through the living room on his fruitless pursuit. Manson grew bored before long, and switched it off.

“Come here, Kitten.” He beckoned with one teasing finger, watching with a disdaining smirk as the subject, clueless, searched for the spot that had seemed to magically disappear. After a failed investigation, Eight followed his master’s command and sat before him once again.

“Look at me.” Eight was abruptly met with the laser pointer shone directly into his eye. He brought his hands up to cover his face, recoiling and doubling over whilst hissing and growling.

“Hey, did I say that you could look away? You fucking know  _ exactly  _ what happens when you do that!”

Eight remembered a horrible memory. He whined pitifully, adjusting his eyes to his master once more whilst rubbing tears from the affected one. Manson turned the pointer back on, shining the red light into the other eye.

“Don’t you dare look away. Okay, Kitten?”

But Eight couldn’t resist. Sure enough, he snapped his head away, rubbing at both eyes and continuing to whine. Manson grinned. He took his subject by the lead and dragged him along to one of the cabinets in the lab. He unlocked a drawer and produced two sterile, metal retractors. He pocketed them before Eight could get a chance to look at what he’d even taken out. Regardless, it usually wasn’t a good sign. Speculums, gags, knives, every tiny, little torture device under the sun sat within those cabinets. Eight dreaded the sight of that little storage room. If Hell was a place on earth, this would be it. Or maybe that was the operating room. The room with the big, bright lights and the awful, sterile smell that riddled him with traumatic memories. He shuddered and pushed it to the back of his mind as he was dragged back into the living room with his master.

Manson sat in his armchair again, keeping the boy knelt before him with his lead looped around his wrist so he couldn’t easily escape. He withdrew the retractors from his pocket, placing them on the table and taking Eight’s head in his hands before preparing the first.

“Now, stay still... We don’t want another accident, do we?” Eight’s mind was blank. There was a shiny, metal object getting closer and closer to his face. The only words he really understood were “stay still”, and even the meaning of  _ that  _ was slightly fuzzy. He interpreted as he was going to be punished if he dared to move. Probably severely. Manson was always “severe”. In fact, it was highly unlikely that the man even  _ knew  _ the definition of “taking it easy”. ...Eight sure as hell didn’t. Not that he knew what “severe” meant either. Paolo had used it before. It meant… Bad? Really bad.

Eight groaned as his eyelids were parted and stretched by the first metal retractor, his eye immediately watering and twitching under the strain of the contraption. Manson followed with the second one, sitting back for a moment to admire the vile sight before him. Eight looked up with a distressed expression upon his face.

“Awh, what’s wrong, Kitten? I did warn you, didn’t I? This is what you get for being a little shit!” Manson spoke with a false, cheery voice the whole time he stared at his subject, wide eyed and grinning.

“Hah. Anyway.”   
  
Crossing his legs, Manson picked the laser pointer up again. He held the pointer so that its beam would shine directly into the subject’s eye.

“And don’t even  _ think  _ about looking away.” He let out a hushed chuckle, switching on the laser and letting it shoot straight into Eight’s eyeball. Eight gritted his teeth, his tail swaying back and forth in frustration. His eyes watered endlessly, streaming down his cheeks and into his lap. Manson watched a pair of tears fall in tandem with one another and drop down onto the boy’s legs. The hospital gown had ridden up his legs from the awkward position, and his soft penis was almost exposed. It gave Manson an idea.

“Stand up for me.” He switched off the laser. Eight stood, disoriented by the floaters shifting and creating prominent blindspots in his vision, wobbling slightly and momentarily reaching out to his master for support. He steadied himself at last, and watched his master. Manson lifted up the gown and began stroking his subject’s penis. He wasn’t particularly well endowed, but it was enough for him. It made him happy, in fact. All of his subjects “coincidentally” had smaller penises than him. He had no interest in men with large penises, unless they were some monumental, unearthly size like an orc. Manson fucking  _ loved  _ orcs. He continued pumping Eight’s cock in his hand until he was hard, then let go.

“Keep touching yourself for me. Get back on your knees. Sit.” Eight returned to his knees on his master’s command, resisting the overwhelming urge to pull out the retractors. He wrapped both hands around his penis to occupy them, stroking at a similar pace to how his master had touched him.

“Okay, then. Here are your rules. I’m gonna keep pointing this into your eyes… Until you cum! Aaand, I’m gonna keep your eyes wiiiide open until you cum a second time! Like I said, it’s your punishment for being a little shit! So, let’s start now, shall we?”

Manson didn’t await any kind of response from his subject to reactivate the laser pointer, letting the red beam bore into Eight’s eyes. He flicked it up and down, creating a sort of strobing effect that made Eight whine louder. His eyes were awash with tears, bloodshot and still twitching as they were relentlessly pried open for far longer than a human should ever be made to endure. It wasn’t the most agonising thing Eight had been through, but it was still incredibly uncomfortable to suffer through. He tried to focus. He stared past the laser, looking up at his master and finding something immediately arousing in his cruel smirk. It spurred him on slightly, but it did little to bring him closer to an orgasm.

Half blinded by the laser pointer, Eight finally climaxed. He let out a choked moan that warped into an awkward sob, his body quivering and his ears flattening out in discomfort. Manson switched off the laser pointer at once.

“Aha! What a good boy, hm? Sit on my lap, Kitten.” Eight crawled up onto the seat into Manson’s lap, immediately met by his master licking up the tears in his eyes. His tongue edged closer and closer, swiping at his sclera teasingly. Eight recoiled. Manson held his subject’s head in place with a hand at the back of his head, sliding his tongue over the full surface of one exposed eyeball, then the other.

Manson tossed the boy onto the floor when he grew bored of teasing him, waiting until he returned to his kneeling position to throw the contents of his glass into his face. Eight coughed and sputtered up water, wiping his face with his gown and sniffling.

“There. Just that your eyes were getting a little bloodshot. It’s not pretty, y’know. Anyway… I have to go and get another glass of water now. Stay.”

Eight waited patiently until Manson’s return. He straightened himself up, looking up at his master patiently for his next orders.

“Start touching that pathetic little dick of yours again, okay? Don’t stop until you cum, because you know I’m not taking those out until you do.” Eight whimpered, but began to stroke himself again.

His second orgasm didn’t take as long to bring himself to, but it was just as painful to sit through with no stimulus at all to base a fantasy off of. Manson continued to rant about something Eight couldn’t understand and certainly didn’t try to, even further putting him off of finishing. At last, he hit his second climax of the night. The orgasm hit him just as hard as the first one, leaving his body shaking and quivering helplessly.

Manson finally removed the retractors from Eight’s eyes, finally allowing the boy to blink - which he was eternally grateful for. When his orgasm subsided, Eight soon collapsed against his master’s legs, purring in distress and exhaustion. His post-orgasm haze nearly led him into a somewhat peaceful slumber, but Manson yanked on the lead the moment he noticed the rapid decrease in movement and noise from the subject. He stood up and placed the retractors back into his pocket for the time being, then began trying to pull his subject along.

Eight didn’t budge, dead weight at the end of the lead. Manson sighed, gathering up the lead and hoisting his subject off of the ground. He hooked his arm beneath the boy’s rear and allowed him to wrap his arms around his neck like a child. If he didn’t fear that he would spontaneously rip his ear off any other time, Manson may have been more willing to do this. But… Of course, he was terrified of his prototype. Usually, the only way to get him to relax as much as this was just plain, old sedation or knocking him out entirely. It was surprisingly refreshing to find a new alternative to wasting his money on sedatives. Not that wasting money really mattered to Manson at this point. It was just… A hassle. He thought about it as he carried Eight to his chamber, setting him down on the floor of the padded room and carefully placing the subject’s shredded blanket atop its body.

Manson felt inclined to wait until Eight fell asleep. He didn’t know why, he simply felt compelled to do it. He shut the door behind him, and sat on the mattress in the corner of the room while he watched his failed project drift into a mindless snooze. Observing him through the many cameras he placed in the room felt… Insubstantial now. It didn’t feel like enough to just watch through the screens. It was like seeing a wild animal up close, at its most vulnerable, fast asleep like a baby, innocence upon its face. He tried not to get too deep into thought about it, leaving shortly after he realised that Eight was fast asleep.

Sometimes, Manson wondered if Eight’s mindlessness was even torture at all, rather than a bliss he couldn’t possibly know the value of.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something to keep my account active while I'm working on Bound for Ruin.


End file.
